When we were roommates, Wayne Gross and I would sit out on our balcony, pour a couple of fingers of scotch, light cigars and talk. Wayne had this vision of the perfect law firm, a firm whose credo was to fight for justice. It would be small enough to be personal, big enough to be powerful, smart enough to win and profitable enough to be able to pick clients for the righteousness of their causes, not the size of their wallets.

These talks, along with other discussions with a few close friends, reignited my interest in going to law school, something I hadn’t considered since I was 30. The education and the challenge of being in that stand-and-deliver environment were the primary drivers, along with having a Plan B. Until last year, the Register was like every other paper in the U.S., cutting staff with regularity.

Wayne and I talked about practicing together, but that seemed more a fantasy than a goal. He had just left the U.S. Attorney’s Office in Orange County, where he had been chief. He was now working for a Big Law firm, with a capital “L” and a capital “B.” I had zero interest in that. Plus, it would be years before I could practice. Indeed, from LSAT prep to bar exam results, five years elapsed.

In my second year of law school, Wayne bought a house and moved out. We didn’t see much of each other, but earlier this year he asked me to breakfast. He and another lawyer at his firm had won a $50 million verdict for a Newport Beach man who had been cheated out of his investment in some property in Hollywood.

Wayne and his colleague, Alan Greenberg, were planning to leave their Big Law firm in April, he told me, and start a boutique litigation firm. The idea was to combine the best elements of Big Law with the flexibility and personal touch of a smaller firm. They’d have the freedom to do both plaintiff and defense work, to focus on litigation only, and to bring along new lawyers faster and get them into the courtroom sooner.

Did I want to be a part of that?

Wow. Sure, I said. I’m interested. But I wanted to think about it. I still loved journalism and my role in it. Also, the Register was experiencing a renaissance. We agreed to talk again after I graduated.

Last month, Ivisited Wayne’s new firm, Greenberg Gross LLP, and met his partner. They had taken offices on the 17th floor of the Center Tower at South Coast Plaza. Wayne was now president of the O.C. Bar Association. They had hired seven lawyers. They had six high-stakes business-litigation trials booked for 2014 and wanted a few more.

Did I want to be a part of that?

I met the other lawyers. The vibe in the office felt great. Late one night, Wayne and Alan and I walked over to Maestro’s and had steaks and cigars on the patio. I apparently met Alan’s approval when I was able to name seven of the eight starting position players on the 1969 Mets.

Alan and I had something else in common. He was standing outside the Santa Ana Courthouse recently and happened to look up at the 50 U.S. state flags the City of Santa Ana flies in the plaza. To his surprise, he saw an image of the Confederate Battle Flag; it is part of the Mississippi flag.

He told Wayne, and Wayne got the Bar Association to pass a resolution urging the city to remove the flag, as it “is inextricably linked to a legacy of racism, exclusion, oppression and violence.”

I had noticed the same thing one day in 2007 and wrote a column about it. But nothing happened. Now, the Bar Association is in discussions with the city about removing the flag. It reinforced my feeling that I was on the same page with these guys.

A few days later, the bar results came out. The stuff Wayne and I used to talk about was real. Wayne actually had a firm, and I was actually a lawyer.

I formally interviewed with the other Greenberg Gross lawyers and went to dinner with them. That morning they had successfully defended a class-action suit for a large national retailer and were in a celebratory mood. Felt pretty good to be in their company.

A few days later, Wayne and Alan made a formal offer. Good thing. I had just bought four suits.

I accepted and went to tell my editors. Now I tell you. I will write a couple of year-end update pieces, cover the Kelly Thomas trial to verdict and then sign off next month with a column I hope will capture what it has meant to me to be your columnist for 10 years.

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